


The Needs of the One

by Theyumenoinu



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bones/Uhura (background), Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Spock, Klingons, M/M, Manipulation, Mild Smut, Near Death Experiences, POV James T. Kirk, POV Spock, Post-Star Trek: Into Darkness, Protective Spock, Protective Spock Prime, Sick!Jim, Slow Burn-ish, Tarsus IV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-10 14:01:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12913398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theyumenoinu/pseuds/Theyumenoinu
Summary: It was believed Khan's blood had been the miracle remedy, but now it's the very thing that's killing him. Spock lost Jim once; he won't allow himself to lose him again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or its characters.
> 
> Updates: Sporadically

 

 

**The Needs of the One**

 

  
**Chapter One**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spock is unclear of the reason prompting this reaction.

Although her fluctuating emotions have consistently bewildered him to the point of examining their relationship on numerous occasions, it seems he's failed contemplating the possibility that she’d eventually tire of his restrictions. Finding it strange how he didn’t consider this outcome, at some point, during countless sessions of meditation. Especially, upon noting the sudden paradigm shift of her personality subsequent the events of Khan. Her solemn demeanor eliciting a peculiar discomfort, deriving from an unknown place within.

"How long?" Nyota wonders with a hushed tone, as Spock remains uncertain how to ease her. Wordlessly observing the person with a remarkable will, an aptitude for language, and a staggering intellect deteriorate rapidly before him. Helpless, while she shrinks beneath his gaze in silent defeat, causing her to appear small and fragile; a shell of her former self.

Inexplicable pressure bears down upon his shoulders. The gravity of the room increasing exponentially—illogical, he thinks, as they are currently aboard an environmentally controlled vessel. Unless, the specific device has succumbed to an unanticipated malfunction—also very unlikely.

"I do not know," he admits, honestly.

Her gaze averts away while her lips slowly stretch to form a smile. The contradictory expression eliciting confusion.

"I would have done anything you wanted me to.” She laughs, bitterly. "I could have loved you the rest of my life."

Spock has no reason to believe her confession isn’t genuine.

"I understand."

Her eyes snap back to look at him, pinning him with an incredulous glare. _"Do you?"_ she questions, tone lowering to indicate irritation.

Spock fumbles with her pressing need for deeper comprehension, despite having none to offer. Considering a proper response, when he realizes the intention of the question was not to impose discrepancy, but to delve into his introspect of the current situation. A concealed question lurks beneath: Did you love me?

"I confess that I do not understand," he says, and the glimmer of hope he sees fades.

He does not love her; at least, not as she deserves to be.

"I see," she relents. "When did you become aware it was _him_?"

An interesting assumption, as he had not enlightened her of the fact. It seems her perceptive skills are an addition to her already impressive list of attributes.

Clasping his hands at the small of his back, he regards her curiously for a moment. He admits the romantic inclination towards the beginning was rather exceptional. Indulging in forbidden, impetuous activities between a Vulcan professor and a Human student as a rebellious action against the laws of Surak, and more importantly, his father. Perhaps, that is why he consistently withheld romantic displays under the scrutiny of their peers, only permitting it rarely when initiated by her.

Her eyebrows furrow before she expels a breath in frustration.

"Please don't deny it,” she pleads. “I saw the expression on your face as he died. Your blind determination to avenge him.” Her eyes soften, becoming slightly unfocused. “I had to stop you from killing Khan, and the _only_ reason you did stop was because of _his name._ "

Spock doesn’t respond immediately, debating how to proceed. Humans are easily bruised in these matters and he has no desire to cause any further damage; however, his lack of admission could easily be misconstrued as an act of betrayal.

"I did not intend to harm you."

She sighs dejectedly.

"I know you didn't, but I wish you could've identified this sooner." She pauses to blink excessively as a glossy sheen settles upon her eyes. “And I wish I had, also."

"I apologize, Nyota,” Spock replies automatically, and finds instead of bringing comfort, it only seems to frustrate her more.

Nodding curtly, she pivots on her heel, and stalks towards the entrance of the observation deck—only to abruptly halt at the doors. With her backside still facing him, she says tonelessly, "I hope he makes you happy,” then continues on, denying him a chance to speak.

Just as she exits, Jim simultaneously rounds the corner to enter—quickly dodging out of her path as she brushes passed. And gawking after her briefly before sauntering towards him with a quizzical and slightly accusatory look.  

“What’s the matter with her?” Jim asks, his intrusive curiosity ever insatiable.

Spock scrutinizes him as he approaches; noting the depletion of muscle mass. The percentage of which he’d been unable to examine while Jim was bedridden. There’s a diminutive and persistent tremble to his frame and a faint flush tainting the ashen skin upon his face—highly disconcerting, since the doctor once conveyed his concerns over the potential effects of Khan's blood transfusion.

"Our courting has come to an end, and she is displeased," Spock states matter-of-fact.

Jim’s eyebrows hike slightly in surprise as he stops a considerate distance away.

"Oh." He begins fidgeting with the hem of the gold tunic, drawing Spock’s attention to his shaking fingers. "I'm sorry.”

Spock ticks his head in mild surprise. "I do not understand your reason for apologizing when you are not at fault."

He shrugs as though to dismiss it, but elaborates anyway: "I'm just sorry things didn't pan out. Both of you seemed…" he trails off, eyes fixating on some distant focal point while he searches for the correct word. “Content?"

Spock arches a brow at his ambiguous speculation. "I see.”

A pregnant silence descends upon them suddenly. The weight of it clearly causing Jim discomfort as he shifts restlessly.

Clearing his throat, Jim hurries to change the subject, "So, I was looking for you.” He chuckles, and rubs a hand feverishly at the nape of his neck. "I need your help running a few diagnostics before we ship off." Producing a PADD Spock somehow overlooked, Jim offers it to him expectantly.

"Of course," Spock replies, accepting the device and finding it’s warmed considerably from the heat of Jim's hand.

He scans the screen—a few minor repairs to re-check, simple tasks that an Ensign could handle. But stills when he reads over the words:

_Engineering: Warp Core Inspection_

"Captain." A strange constriction occurs in his side with the mere thought of preforming the task. “Would it not be more suitable for Mr. Scott to assess the condition of the core?" he asks, glancing up just as Jim turns away; arms folding defensively over his chest.

"It would," he agrees with a sigh. "But, I can't ask him to."

"It is well within his abilities,” Spock argues. “My evaluation would not compare—"

"Spock," Jim interjects, voice devoid of emotion. "Please?" The piercing blue of Jim’s eyes glance sidelong at him, a gentle pleading within their depths.

"This is not a command?" Spock questions; struggling, again, to comprehend Jim’s logic.

"No,” Jim says softly, even as he inexplicably stiffens. “It’s not. If you aren't comfortable with it, I won't force you."

"Vulcans do not feel uncomfortable," he says, and is startled by the calm that floods him as the tension in Jim’s shoulders ease.

_How peculiar._

"Right. Of course you don't," Jim jests with a flash of his signature grin. "C'mon, I'll escort you to the lift." He makes to leave, but his legs appear to lose strength, collapsing beneath his weight and forcing him to stumble sideways into the wall.

"Captain!" Spock rushes immediately to his side. Reaching out, he lays his hand upon the man’s shoulder, stunned to feel it drenched with perspiration and radiating a remarkable heat through the layers of his uniform.

Jim pants shallowly. The flush illuminating his features a bright shade of crimson, and beads of sweat gathering at his brow, dripping down to slide beneath his jawline.

"Are you ill?” Spock inquires, and shifts his stance in order to be of better aid on the possible chance Jim loses consciousness. “Shall I alert the doctor?"

Jim swallows, attempting to gain control of his breathing.

"Spock,” he says with effort, batting Spock's hand away. "I'm all right; just a little lightheaded."

 _A lie_ , Spock determines easily, having long learned Jim maintains an indifference to his own well-being. Recalling several occasions where Jim would rile the already disgruntled doctor by evading the medical bay when severely injured; inevitably provoking the man to seek Jim on the bridge, and thus resulting in a prolonged session of bickering.

"By my observations, you are not well. I insist I take you to the medical bay for a thorough examination," he says firmly, bristling slightly when Jim waves him away.

"It's nothing; I'll be fine,” Jim mutters. “I'm heading to the bridge. I'm sure headquarters have already transmitted our first orders by now.”

Regaining his bearings, if only just, Jim strides from the room without a second glance. Leaving Spock to watch after him with mounting concern as he vanishes back down the corridor.

 _Insufferable,_ Spock thinks with a tiny shake of his head, and dutifully departs for the engineering sector.

 

 

 

 

~*~

 

 

 

 

Fear is not logical. It's an emotional hindrance, which cripples its victims and leaves them vulnerable to irrational behavior. Something Spock would normally contest to ever succumbing to; that is, until he boards the turbolift and presses the controls. Alarmed, as an invisible knot coils tightly in the pit of his stomach once the lift begins to descend; a pressure building in his lungs, inhibiting his breathing.

The doors hiss open, and he hesitates momentarily before stepping into the large area aligned with an array of bulky equipment. Striding through the narrow catwalks until he reached his destination. The layout remains unchanged; no evidence to suggest what transpired a year prior.

Almost involuntarily, he pads over to the door. Gazing down through the glass—and jerks from shock as he beholds Jim inching forward; skin blanched, eyes half-lidded and losing life.

Spock kneels quickly, his hands coming to press firmly against the cool glass dividing them. His heart thudding forcefully against his side as he buckles under the crushing failure and loss _—_ unable to reach him, unable to save him.

He blinks and Jim is gone.

The decontamination chamber is now empty; Jim is not inside.

He is safe.

_Alive._

Spock releases a shaky breath; the pads of his fingers gliding along the smooth surface while he fights for control. The image had been astonishingly vivid, never before experiencing such an astounding occurrence while conscious.

" _I want you to know why I couldn’t let you die. Why I went back for you."_

Spock clenches his eyes shut as he’s thrown forcefully back into the memory.

_Tears spill down Jim's face as he scarcely clings onto what little energy he still possesses. Spock wishing he wouldn't exert himself, given how taxing speaking is at this moment. Jim's painful gasps piercing him to his core, and causing the muscles in his throat to constrict at the sound._

" _Because you are my friend,” he replies, a tear escaping, trailing down his cheek._

_No. That reason was vague. It isn’t only due to Jim crashing through his social barriers; there is significantly more. However, he lacks the focus to pinpoint it._

_Jim’s gaze conveys a similar thought as his hand feebly rises, pressing against the glass in what Spock understands to be their final farewell._ _Spock’s hand instantly returns the gesture, forming the_ ta’al, _and with a sharp intake of breath, watches Jim adjust his hand to mirror it._

_The corner of Jim’s mouth twitching—a hint of a smile._

_Jim understands its meaning._

"—ock."

_Choking, struggling against the pain. Slumping lifelessly—_

"Mr. Spock!"

Spock jolts. Reality crashing over him as the memory recedes, leaving him kneeling, his forehead resting against the glass door, and breathing raggedly. The loss of control entirely unacceptable; especially, when he is on duty. Determining meditation is what he will require to reinforce his crumbling mental barriers.

"Mr. Spock, can you hear me, sir?"

"Yes, Mr. Scott,” Spock strains to speak. “How may I be of assistance?" he asks, fluidly rising and straightening his tunic with a sharp tug at the hem.

"Uh, well, sir, I was jus' wondering wha' you were doing over here?" The man pauses, then wonders, "If this is a bad time…"

Spock clasps his hands behind his back, and finally meets the chief engineer’s confounded stare. "I am merely inspecting the core,” Spock quickly explains. “Making certain it is working efficiently.”

The skin between the man’s brow pinches.

“Ah,” Mr. Scott begins, “forgive me, sir, but I don’ understand how you are capable of inspecting anythin' from all the way over there?" He gestures to the panel beside him, where diagnostic tests are run.

Spock straightens at his lapse in logic.

"I was thoroughly examining the mechanisms of the doors,” he defends. “Their functionality is crucial to the compartment."

"Aye, sir, they are. Though, I can guarantee they are in working order,” Mr. Scott assures, glancing about suspiciously. “I checked them over myself not two hours ago.”

Spock nods in understanding. "Very well. As you are the Chief Engineer, I will assign you the task of sufficiently examining the core’s functions. After you have finished, you will submit the report to the captain."

After a moment’s hesitation, Mr. Scott gives a weak, "Aye, sir,” allowing Spock to beat a hasty retreat. Resolving to remedy his compromised mind in the 30.2 minutes it will take the man to run the diagnostics. Enough time, he reasons, to regain his equilibrium before he is called onto the bridge for cast off.

The instance the lift’s door shut, he steadies himself with a hand against the wall. Jim’s weakened voice echoing inside his head:

" _I want you to know why I couldn’t let you die.”_

He needs to meditate.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

**Chapter Two**

 

 

 

 

A chirp pierces the silent, enclosed space of his quarters, causing Spock's breath to hitch as he hurries to untangle himself from his musings. Flooding back into the forefront of his consciousness from the recesses of deep internal conflict to discover the meditation’s failed him. Every mental barrier he’s erected in order to suppress the memories of Jim’s death beginning to crack under pressure.

Possibly, he thinks, upon the conclusion of the first shift, he could contact _New Vulcan_ to discuss the confounding development with a healer.

As another chirp sounds, Spock swiftly rises from the mat, and pads across the candlelit room to the desk. He normally doesn’t wish to be disturbed; however, he understands the possibility he’s remained within the trance far longer than anticipated.

Snatching up the communicator, he flips it open and habitually states: "Spock here."

" _Mr. Spock, could you meet me on the bridge?"_ Jim requests, all manner of professionalism in his tone.

"Yes, Captain. I will arrive momentarily."

" _Thank you. Kirk out."_

Spock snaps the device closed, and moves to extinguishing the candles. An inexplicable sensation overcoming him at the mere thought of being within close proximity of Jim. His heart rate notably increasing, pounding against his side with such astonishing force he considers seeking out the doctor for an examination as he leaves for the turbolift. Unnerved that this reaction seems almost constant whenever Jim is near.

The lift comes to a halt, and Spock eyes the doors curiously while they open to reveal the very doctor he all but desired to see. Noting the way the man’s eyes widen marginally before stepping into the lift; pressing the control panel with the pad of his thumb.

"Spock." He nods, rotating to face the doors as the lift continues its ascent.

"Doctor,” Spock acknowledges. "Are you not currently required to oversee duties in the medical bay?"

The doctor's eyes roll in their sockets—a most intriguing Human gesture. Spock studies the motion carefully; aware after the years spent living with his mother and at the academy on Earth that it’s a conveyance of exasperation. Though, despite being able to translate it, he still doesn’t quite understand why Humans constantly choose to emote by use of facial expressions. The actions being an unnecessary waste of energy.  

"No, Spock, my temporary absence is not going to hinder the medical team," the doctor grumbles. And after a few passing seconds of silence, heaves a heavy sigh and slightly turns to face him to ask with a softer tone: "How are your hands?"

"They have healed adequately," Spock informs, reflexively folding his arms behind him to clasp his hands at the small of his back. Recalling how they ached considerably after the one-on-one battle with Khan; the nerves damaged and bones broken. Not daring to seek medical attention for them until he was certain of Jim’s survival.

"Well, I still want to take a look at them,” the man stubbornly insists. “Stop by after your shift, all right?"

"I assure you, Doctor, they are healed,” Spock returns. “Any further pursuit of treatment would be excessive."

A huff of frustration echoes in the confined space in response.

“I'm the doctor here, so let me do my damn job," he argues peevishly. "If I don't see you in sickbay this evening, I'll personally make a house call to your quarters. Got it?"

Spock dips his head in wordless comprehension. All too aware any counterargument will only disgruntle the man more. The doctor clearly pleased enough by his acquiescence to steer the conversation towards another pressing matter.

"Have you seen Jim recently?" he inquires, causing Spock to raise a brow in interest.

Jim's friendship with the doctor is, as he’s come to learn, incredibly close-knit. The pair nearly inseparable. So, the fact the doctor possesses no knowledge of Jim's whereabouts is rather astounding.

"I have, indeed, been in contact with the captain. Have you not?"

An irritated snort escapes the man at that. "No. He's been avoiding me, and I want to know _why_."

"Perhaps his intention is to keep you from worrying about his current condition."

"What?" the doctor barks, his head whipping around in surprise. "What condition?" He grits his teeth, and begins muttering irritably below his breath:  “I knew it. The damn idiot—he's going to get himself killed one of these--"

"I have observed a fever," Spock starts, "and he confessed to experiencing a bout of dizziness.” At an accusatory look the man shoots him, Spock quickly adds, “I urged him to seek a medical examination; however, he dismissed my request."

"I'm not surprised,” the doctor replies flatly with a shake of his head. “Eluding the medical bay is his specialty.” With a sigh, the doctors commences scrubbing a hand over his face; a sign of weariness. “I swear that kid is going to be the death of me.”

Regarding Spock again, the doctor says with sincerity, “Thanks for the heads up, Spock. I’m grateful to have an extra set of eyes and ears when it comes to his health.”

Before he’s able to respond, the hiss of the lift doors disrupts their conversation; opening to reveal the bridge. Observing as the doctor immediately produces his tricorder, and marches forwards with a look of determination. Clearly not intending to allow Jim a chance to rebuff him again.

Departing the lift shortly after, Spock veers off from the path of the command chair to his assigned station. Attempting to avoid the scene that is undoubtedly about to unfold, knowing Jim won’t be happy with him for imparting his justified concerns.

"Jim, what is this I hear about a fever?" the doctor chides loudly for the entire bridge to hear, and after a short pause, exclaims: " _Good God_ , man. You're running a high temperature!"

"Relax, Bones," Jim's nonchalantly dismisses. His indifference sending a jolt of something akin to irritation up Spock’s spine.

" _Relax?_ You want me to _relax_?" The man snorts derisively. "The only time I'll be _able_ to relax around here is when I'm _dead_. Dammit, Jim, you really piss me off sometimes."

A frivolous chuckle floats across the bridge, causing Spock to clench his hands tightly.

"When don't I?"

"Get down to sickbay,” the doctor all but demands, understandably impatient. “I need to look you over.”

“Not right now.”

“Why?”

"We're about to cast off," Jim weakly defends.

“Dammit, man, don't _force_ me to sedate you,” he threatens. “If you don't recall in that thick skull of yours, I'm the Chief Medical Officer, and I can _order_ you if I feel I have due cause."

"It's just a fever, Bones; nothing I can't handle,” Jim trivializes once more. “And how did you even find out, anyway?"

Spock stiffens, bracing for Jim’s inevitable discontentment.

"I own a magical crystal ball,” the doctor quips.

Jim scoffs. "I’m serious.”

"Unlike you, Jim, I'm not an open book,” he sidesteps easily, sparing Spock for the time being. “Now, get down to the medical bay before I have to _drag_ you down there."

"It's very tempting, but I think I'll pass," Jim says tonelessly, prompting Spock to turn to offer support to the good doctor.

"Captain."

At that, Jim flicks his eyes over to him. Spock taking in the patches of red from his fever, and how he feebly slumps further in his chair. The invisible knot returning with the visual evidence of Jim’s illness, coiling in the pit of his stomach.

"Yes, Mr. Spock?" Jim prompts, his eyelids steadily drooping.

"I ask that you heed the doctor's concerns, and return to duty once you've obtained optimal health." Spock swallows thickly, and firmly reminds, "As you are responsible for making critical decisions, it is imperative to be unimpaired for the safety of the crew and the _Enterprise_."

Jim falters, a pained expression tightening the skin around his eyes.

"Alright…" he concedes with an air of defeat. “You have the _conn._ I'll return shortly."

As he slides from his chair, the doctor secretly gifts Spock an appreciative nod. One that Spock’s only seen once from the man when Spock offered to watch over Jim. Remaining by his side after Khan's blood had been injected into his veins, allowing the doctor a chance to rest.

Spock normally refrains from interloping in their bickering; however, judging from the way Jim sways unsteadily on his feet, Spock believes his interference was necessary. Jim’s unwillingness to care for himself, a consistent occurrence.

"I expect a full report on the captain's condition as soon as you are able, Doctor," Spock says, edging closer toward Jim.

"Yeah, yeah, Spock; don't get your pointy ears in a knot," the doctor grumbles, waving a hand dismissively.

"I do not see how that would be possible, Doctor,” Spock responds, quirking a brow questionably.

Jim flashes him a smile; bright with mirth and amusement. A welcomed relief from Jim’s otherwise lackluster demeanor.

"C'mon, Bones,” Jim starts, clapping a hand against the doctor’s arm. “We better leave before you fry his brain with all your idioms."

A rising desire to follow in order to oversee the examination stirs feverishly behind his solid shields as Spock watches the two of them head for the lift. His muscles tensing while he battles against a compelling urge to protect; forcing himself, stiffly, onto the warmed seat just as the lift's doors shut. Deciding that if he fails to hear from the medical bay within an hour, he’ll ascertain Jim's status personally.

"Lieutenant Uhura."

She becomes rigid at the address. Resolutely keeping her backside facing him as she responds in a professional tone: "Yes, Mr. Spock?"

"Would you relay the current orders from Starfleet?" he requests.

"Aye, sir.” Tapping a few controls at her work station, she relays, “We’re to set course for _New Vulcan_ to pick up Ambassador Sarek, as well as a second ambassador before rendezvousing with the _U.S.S Constellation_. Where we’ll be boarding more dignitaries for transport to _Babel._ "

"Who is the other ambassador?" he wonders.

"Starfleet has deemed their identity confidential, sir,” Nyota informs. “With exception for the captain.”

"I see,” Spock replies evenly, a wave of something akin to frustration washing over him. "Inform Starfleet we have received orders and request permission for departure."

"Aye, sir."

"Mr. Chekov, inform the crew of our itinerary. And Mr. Sulu, set course for _New Vulcan_ , warp factor five."

After a combined, "Aye, sir,” Spock turns his attention to the view screen. His mind reeling with the current events. Troubled by both Jim’s unstable health and the identity of the ambassador. Surely, he thinks, it couldn't be his elder counterpart. Any interference with the conference would breach the prime directive of this universe, and he’s certain any version of himself will find the idea illogical.

Unless, there are reasons he’s yet to be made aware of.

 

 

 

~*~

 

 

 

 

An hour into warp, Spock assigns the _conn_ to Sulu, and takes off for the medical bay. The descent unpleasantly long as his mind wanders to the illness plaguing his friend. Pondering if it could be linked to Khan’s blood, given the lack of time they possessed to properly test it in conjunction with Jim’s blood.

The negative effects of incompatible blood types consuming his thoughts when the doors unexpectedly open to allow a frighteningly pale Jim to lumber inside. His presence instantly cutting Spock from his reserved speculations.

"Captain,” he says with a tinge of surprise. “Why are you not in the medical bay?"

Without a word, Jim presses the control pad for deck five; leaning heavily against the curved wall for some measure of support. His eyes unseeing, yet fixated on a point on the opposite wall.

"Captain?" Spock approaches him, resting a tentative hand against his arm.

Still no hint of acknowledgement, as though Jim is hardly conscious of his surroundings.

"I am concerned,” he says gently. "Please respond."

Jim fractionally shakes his head and licks at the dry skin of his lips. His voice croaking as he replies, "Let me go to my quarters, Spock."

Shrugging off Spock's hand, Jim strides from the lift in the direction of his quarters. Spock gazing after him briefly before hastily pursuing him. Knowing that unless the doctor’s cleared his leave—unlikely—he cannot allow Jim to be alone in his current state.

"Captain,” he tries again, slipping quickly into Jim’s quarters just as the door shuts behind him.

Jim maintains his reticence while he crosses over to the desk; visibly trembling as he slumps onto the chair, burying his face into his hands.

With a groan, he requests, “For the last time, call me Jim.”

Spock takes a hesitant step closer with arms hanging helplessly at his sides, uncertain of whether or not to initiate touch.

"As I am still on duty, it would not be permissible to address you so informally,” Spock returns. “Has Doctor McCoy released you?"

Jim sighs dejectedly, raking fingers through the sandy blond strands of his hair. His silent pleas for isolation distressing; especially, as comprehension dawns that Jim’s typical escape from the medbay has brought him here rather than the bridge.

"Spock,” Jim says at length, the strength in his voice alarmingly subdued.

"Yes, Captain?"

Jim glances up at him in the dim lighting; a glossy sheen coating his reddening eyes.

"I'm dying."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is greatly appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

**Chapter Three**

 

 

 

 

 

 

Leonard McCoy is an exceptional doctor.

Utilizing the successful reanimation of the tribble's dead tissue after an injection of Khan's platelets, he was able to save Jim's life. And although Spock was initially disfavored by the man's confrontational demeanor—particularly after forsaking his "best friend" on _Delta Vega_ —Spock quickly learned the man's nature is a defense mechanism to divert emotion.

Especially, when it comes to Jim.

And although his methods to sustain Jim's good health were at times illogical, Spock's concerns are often rendered inconsequential whenever the doctor is present. With astounding medical knowledge, the doctor is always quick to assure Spock he won’t surrender to the complexities of unidentified ailments. Promising to put forth his energies into discovering any and all adequate remedies that may plague Jim or the rest of the crew. The doctor gaining his utmost respect, knowing Jim will continue to be in capable hands.

However, his confidence in the doctor now wavers as he watches the man slouch against the wall of his office. Nearly unrecognizable in his defeat, Leonard’s shoulders slump, his fingers rubbing along his pale brow.

"I do not understand," Spock says. "Can you not specify the illness?"

The doctor releases a sigh.

"No, Spock, not completely.” Pushing away from the wall, the doctor meanders over to his desk to retrieve the PADD from its surface. "Besides the fever, his strength has diminished considerably and he claims to be fatigued often. The labs show high levels of malignant leukocytes within his bone marrow, deeming it cancerous."

He pauses, hands clenching the sleek device until the knuckles glowed white. His voice straining as he continues, "But even though all signs are pointing to it, his other symptoms differ vastly. Not only are the immature leukocytes infiltrating the healthy blood cells, he also appears anemic, having already lost five percent of his blood. Also, the functions of his organs have altered, almost like they're working against him; steadily poisoning him which could lead to an inevitable shut down at any given moment."

Spock’s hands flex and curl into fists at the doctor’s lost tone. "But you are able to treat the captain?"

" _No,_ _dammit!_ " he snaps, slamming down the PADD with remarkable force. “If I knew what the _hell_ was going on, I'd be working on a cure,” he defends. “I have no idea where to begin with this. His body has changed drastically; all the data I collected of his biochemical functions is worth nothing now."

Spock's head ticks to the side. Something akin to frustration building in his core. "Are you saying that you are unfit to preform your required medical duties, Doctor?"

The man's face tints a deep shade of red at that; his hands clenching and nostrils flaring. "What are you trying to say? If you think for one minute I'm going to give up on Jim, you pointy-eared _bastard_ , I'm—"

"I have no doubts you care for the captain; however, you have stated your incompetence in procuring a cure, therefore leading me to assume you have deserted the task." The color recedes from the doctor’s features as his mouth hangs slightly agape. "Am I mistaken, Doctor?"

"No,” he concedes. “You're right."

With a slight incline of his head, Spock asks, "Could you elaborate?"

Stiffly rounding the desk, the doctor groans before collapsing onto the chair.

"You were correct when you said I'd already given up hope finding a cure,” he says with a tinge of guilt. “Of course, I’ll never give up hope that Jim will survive this, but…" A glossy sheen settles upon his eyes that he tries remove by several forceful blinks.

"I don’t know how to help him,” the doctors admits. "I'm afraid that I may do something wrong—that I’ll…lose him, again.”

Spock is struck by a small amount of remorse for his insensitivity toward the emotionally compromised doctor. Reminding himself that in addition to being Jim’s physician, the man is also Jim’s closest friend.

An overwhelming fear courses through Spock at the idea of Jim being permanently deceased. The pressure he experienced in the engineering sector returning.

" _I'm scared, Spock. Help me not be."_

If only he could dissolve his control in front of the man before him—reveal what lurks beneath his shields. Grant both the doctor and Jim the realization that he, too, is afraid.

"Right now, he needs you more than ever, Spock," the doctor says when Spock fails to offer any reassurances. "We'll figure this out. Just…make him happy in the time being. As illogical as it may sound to you, it'll help him in the long run."

_Happy._

The word evokes the memory of Nyota's parting comment simply hours ago:

_“I hope he makes you happy.”_

The image of Jim's mirthful face slides from the depths of his subconscious, captivating him with its brightness.

Spock could not allow that light to fade as it had inside the warp core chamber.

_“I want you to know why I couldn’t let you die. Why I went back for you.”_

The reason eludes him.

 

 

 

 

~*~

 

 

 

 

 

Alpha shift ends without a single dilemma. The bridge team hurrying to gather their supplies and clean their stations as their replacements swiftly file in. Some shooting curious gazes in his direction, but otherwise not verbalizing their confusion as they carry on.

Jim remains unreported for duty, holed up inside his private quarters for the duration of the shift. Which, normally, would compel Spock to recite standard procedure and protocol; however, after conversing with the doctor, he deems Jim’s absence logical. Acknowledging how Jim is finally recognizing his body’s limitations, and conveying his approval by placing the captain’s responsibilities onto his own shoulders without complaint.

Yet, his tasks hardly keep his mind from straying to Jim; alone. Pondering the percentage of injury or inability to call for help with no one to monitor his symptoms.

His mind now in a state of unease, Spock wordlessly offers the chair to his replacement and strides with purpose towards the lift. Contemplating a credible reason to ascertain Jim's current status.

 _Illogical_ , he chides himself. _There is no reason to seek out the captain with the exception of occupational related matters or emergency protocols._

However, he finds it impossible to deny the perturbing tug at his side—a nearly inaudible voice calling for him. His thoughts racing, focusing solely on Jim. Why, he wonders, can’t he deflect the images of the man? How can Jim easily slip beneath his mental shields in order to elicit such bewildering responses?

" _The truth is…I'm going to miss you." The bright blues of Jim’s eyes bore into his. Eyebrows lifting expectantly as he waits with uncharacteristic patience for Spock’s reply._

_The confession startles him—Spock’s mouth opening to say that he, too, would “miss” him, but quickly composes himself._

_Vulcans do not yearn._

_With an aggravated huff at Spock’s lack of reaction, Jim stalks off in direction of the meeting room. Spock unmoving as he studies the man’s backside; memorizing the curve of his form, his fluid motions, and familiar features. This Human, who had rescued him moments from death while disregarding the potential consequences would now serve his duties without him—would cease to be his captain._

_This situation strangely displeases him._

The hiss of the lift jars him from the memory as the doors slide open to deck 9, and with a fortifying inhale, Spock sets forth down the familiar corridor. Passing by his own private quarters before halting outside Jim's. Staring at the metal apprehensively—aware Jim could not desire to see him, or that he may find him in a worse state than which he left him.

_“Right now, he needs you more than ever, Spock.”_

The doctor's words ring true as he reaches for the chime, fingers brushing lightly against the nodule, and mere seconds from pressing it when the door swishes open. Taking him by surprise as he’s met with the remarkable blue hues of Jim's irises contrasted against the red veins encasing them. The man’s eyes widening marginally at the unexpected presence of his first officer.

"Spock?” Jim croaks. “What are you doing here?"

Retracting his hand, Spock scans Jim's physique with his gaze, eagerly searching for visible symptoms.

"I came to accept your invitation for the pastime activity known as chess, as you have insisted my participation on numerous occasions,” Spock provides the explanation a little too quickly.

Jim's immediately regards him with suspicion.

“Really?" Jim rakes a hand through his noticeably wet hair. "Well, all right. Come in, then." Whirling around, Jim saunters back inside, leaving Spock at the threshold.

Jim’s movements are stiff and off balance as he hustles to collect the materials, arms trembling as he carefully sets the pieces onto his desk.

"Are you just going to stand there like a Vulcan statue or are you going to come join me?" Jim questions over his shoulder, but remains fixated on the task at hand.

A reflexive twitch occurs at the corner of his mouth as he moves from his position at the door. Stepping closer to the hunched over form of Jim, Spock observes how his fingers diligently arranging the pieces until the setup is complete.

Plopping down onto the chair behind him, Jim flicks his eyes expectantly up at Spock.

"You can have a seat," he prompts, and grins lopsidedly when Spock complies, sitting fluidly onto his own respective chair opposite Jim’s.

"Fascinating," he says, tracing one of the smooth ebony pieces with a single finger. The boards hovering in a three dimensional pattern and seemingly complex.

Jim's grin expands, reaching his eyes and causing them to twinkle with mirth. And as Jim commences explaining the general rules, Spock is drawn to the details of Jim's lips; the muscles in his throat constricting as he imagines its texture.

"I don't think I need to ask if you understand, since you absorb information like a sponge." Jim chuckles, wrenching Spock from his trance. "White or Black?" Jim offers.

"I hold no preference," Spock replies.

"All right.” Jim scratches thoughtfully at this chin. “I'll take white. I prefer the advantage of the first move."

Spock quells another urge to emote. "From what I have observed of your offensive strategies, it is not an unexpected preference."

Jim shrugs. "What can I say?" he says shamelessly, his tan fingers reached for the white pawn, and maneuvering it up a level. The glass clicking as he places it onto a black square.

"Now…" Clearing his throat, Jim pins him with a hard stare. "Why are you _really_ here?"

Spock is instantly taken aback by the confrontation. Finding Jim's perceptive skills are as extraordinary as they are on duty. His inconspicuous attempts to see to Jim’s health evidently failing.

"I do not understand what you are implying," Spock dodges, picking one of his own pieces and gliding it steadily across the board.

An incredulous huff comes as a response.

"I've asked you to join me in a game of chess at least a dozen times. You always claim that it's _illogical_ to indulge in frivolous social activities." Moving another piece, Jim starts peevishly, "So, what is it? Afraid I'm going to keel over at any moment or I'm incapable of taking care of myself? I'm not an invalid, you know."

Spock scrutinizes the board, mapping out all possible counterattacks.

"I believe you are capable of taking care of yourself." Capturing one of Jim's pawns, he continues on, "The doctor, however, is concerned for your mental faculties."

An aggravated grunt escapes Jim at that before he suddenly stills.

"Wait a minute." Jim’s eyes narrow suspiciously. "If that were the case, he'd be the one in here checking up on me." Spock’s pulse inexplicably quickens at Jim's realization.

"So, why are _you_ here?"

Spock swallows thickly as he inwardly repeats the question, and pondering the logic behind his actions. Were his concerns for Jim that considerable he allowed himself to be coaxed into participating in a Terran activity to subdue them? Couldn't he have simply ordered the doctor to inform him of Jim's status on a consistent basis?

Jim leans forward with a glint of amusement in his eye. "You were _worried_ about me."

"Vulcans do not 'worry'," Spock says defensively, and gestures towards the board to indicate Jim's turn.

A laugh leaks from Jim's lips, eliciting pleasant shivers to crawl along Spock's spine at the sound.

"Right. And Bones isn’t sarcastic,” Jim returns with a small shake of his head. "I suspected as much by your reaction earlier, but I didn't think you really _would_ be.” Cornering Spock’s knight, Spock notes how his expression softens, playfulness seemingly fading. "It's nice to know."

Spock's brow quirks at that. "I do not understand why you are pleased when I have not admitted to anything."

With a sigh, Jim retreats until he slumps against the backrest of his seat. "You don’t need to say anything, Mr. Spock."

“I see…” Spock replies, but quietly puzzles over the meaning as the game proceeds in silence. Only making a couple more strategic moves before declaring checkmate, and feeling his mouth twitch into a fraction of a smile as Jim gawks down at the pieces. Seeming to believe they withhold the answers to his loss.

"I will now retire to my quarters for the evening," Spock informs, immediately rising from the chair and heading for the door.

"Hey, Spock?" Jim calls after him, bringing him to an abrupt halt.

"Yes, Captain?" he wonders, turning to face the man who only serves to baffle him immensely.

Jim’s eyes search him intently—for what purpose, Spock is unsure—before sliding from his chair with intent to approach. A hand shakily rising, grasping a hold of Spock's arm and applying a small amount of pressure. The barest hint of a smile forming on his face, as he simply says: "Thanks."

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

**Chapter Four**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Dammit,” the doctor grouses. “Why the hell did they make these things so stiff? I can hardly breathe in this." Hand tugging feverishly at the collar of his formal uniform, the doctor continues to mutter his complaints. His constant need to voice his opinions while blatantly disregarding those within earshot is simply astounding.

"And the fabric's so itchy, it's like wearing a pine cone. If it weren't for the fact the pointy-eared bastards don’t lie on reports, I'd have ditched this damn thing already."

"Doctor," Spock begins even-toned, though bristles slightly at the insult towards the hierarchy of his race. "It is standard protocol to wear formal attire—"

"My point exactly," the doctor curtly curtails him, and grumbles his usual irritation about ‘hobgoblins’ as he shifts weight between feet. The fabric straining as he cranes his neck from side to side.

A soft chuckle floats in the space between them as a hand gently presses against Spock's backside. Remaining there for what seems like a stretched minute before falling away. The weight of Jim's hand impossibly still lingering on his shoulder blade; eliciting a tiny shiver to crawl along his spine as the man steps up to fill the gap.

"Remember, Bones: Vulcans don't _feel_ uncomfortable." Jim snickers as the doctor lets out a snort in disagreement. And gripping his own firm collar, Jim says with a note of frustration, “But I think I have some choice words myself for whoever designed—"

"Captain." The man turns his electric blue gaze to regard him, curious. "On the contrary,” Spock continues. “I do not find the uniforms acceptable for basic mobility, and acknowledge they may hinder us in an instance of emergency. My abilities to perform simple tasks have suffered due to the material." Fingers twitching, Spock quells the urge to tug at his own stiff collar, and instead opts to fold his arms behind him, clasping his hands at the small of his back.

A corner of Jim's mouth quirks in conveyance he’s clearly caught Spock’s attempt to hide his discomfort. "My mistake, then."

The doctor peers around Jim with visible disbelief.

"My god," the doctor says, amazed. "I think he's coming around, Jim. There may be hope yet."

"If you are insinuating that I have admitted to feeling 'uncomfortable', you have misunderstood, Doctor. I merely agreed with the flagrant error that you have repeatedly pointed out in the last twenty minutes and fifty-four seconds.” At the doctor’s responding scowl, Spock clarifies, “My intentions were to inform the captain that the one I currently possess has no significant difference."

"Yeah, in a pig's eye," the doctor retorts, stiffly folding his arms over his chest.

Spock's eyebrow arches in bemusement. "I fail to understand the connection between the functionality of formal uniforms and livestock."

An aggravated sound escapes the man as he shoots Jim an exasperated look.

" _Five years_ , Jim," the doctors states sharply. "You just had to drag me along and isolate me with _him_ for _five years_ , didn't you?" Eyes eyes rolling toward the ceiling for emphasis, he says: "And it's only just begun; _God help me._ "

Jim chuckles, and tugs at his collar once more before settling rigidly into parade rest. Spock wordlessly observes the persistent tremble to Jim’s physique, his ashen complexion contrasting against the green material. Evident that Jim wishes to maintain the pretense of good health by his efforts to appear unaffected.

"Well, Bones, just think of it this way. Three days down and only…" Jim trails off, lips moving silently as he calculates. "1,822 left." Jim grins impishly.

"Why did I ever let you talk me into this?” the doctor grunts in return. “I could’ve been on a beach somewhere with an endless supply of margaritas.”

Jim’s smile widens.

"And what's taking them so damn long?” the doctor asks. “Shouldn't they be here by now?

Jim shakes his head with a sigh. "There was a last minute meeting the Ambassadors were required to attend, so they're running late." Jim eyes the empty landing pad, then glances wearily to the shuttlebay doors. "I received the transmission a few minutes ago.”

The doctor scoffs. "Figures. They're quick to recite rules and regulations, but are late to their own transport."

Glimpsing warily in Spock’s direction, Jim sobers. "Give them a break, Bones. Since Nero, everything's been chaotic." He pauses. "Well, as chaotic as it possibly can be.”

It’s peculiar, Spock thinks, how Jim is tentative when discussing his race, despite the several instances in the past where he’s made belligerent remarks or had taken pleasure in ribbing Spock’s Vulcan nature. Unquestionably becoming more sensitive about the destruction of _Vulcan_ and its inhabitants with each passing day.

Is it possible he harbors guilt over the comments he'd barked inches from Spock’s face to render him emotionally compromised?

Spock's mouth opens, about to address Jim when the shuttlebay doors begin to open outward with intention to receive the incoming shuttle. Forcing him to compose himself as he waits patiently for it to landing softly onto the pad with a blaring hiss. Instinctively becoming rigid with anticipation of seeing his father. An involuntary response, he deduces, from countless years of estrangement.

Sarek's fingers steeple as he steps fluidly from the craft, pinning the three of them with a hardened gaze. A second elder following close behind that Spock instantly recognizes; eliciting an illogically primitive emotion within him as his observes his elder counterpart’s eyes soften with affection towards Jim. A compelling need to pull Jim from the elder’s line of sight causing his hands to twitch.

Jim does not belong to his elder counterpart.

_Jim does not belong to anyone._

"Ambassador Sarek," Jim greets with a polite smile, then turns his attention to the other. The bright regard he offers stoking the fire blazing inside. "And Ambassador Selek; welcome aboard."

"Thank you, Captain," Sarek replies as expected. "My apologies for my rudeness,” he continues abruptly, “but I wish to be directly escorted to my assigned quarters."

Jim’s gaze snaps from the elder counterpart at Sarek’s request; his features coloring slightly from embarrassment.

"O-of course," he stutters, clearing his throat. "Mr. Spock, would you be inclined to escort Ambassador Sarek to his quarters?" Eyebrows rising expectantly toward him, Spock quickly comprehends Jim’s desire for privacy—possibly hoping to converse with his elder counterpart alone.

The notion arising concern—illogical, given there is no perceivable danger.

"Mr. Spock?" Jim presses.

"My apologies, I was unintentionally preoccupied,” Spock explains in a fractionally hurried speed, spying a gleam of what he deems is amusement within the brown tones of his counterpart’s eyes. “And I will certainly do so, Captain.” Facing his father, he says without falter, “Ambassador, if you would follow me?"

Sarek dips his head and follows with no protest after Spock and down the catwalk at a steady pace. Spock’s keen ears catching the concerned inquiry from his counterpart remaining at the landing pad behind them:

"Captain, are you well?"

 

 

 

 

~*~

 

 

 

 

 

Eavesdropping is a Human trait. To succumb to impulsive urges for self-gain is clearly a moral flaw within their social paradigms. And something Spock has managed to avoid, despite his Human heritage—staying well above such petty desires.

Therefore, it is a coincidence that the timing of Jim and his elder counterpart's arrival to the captain's quarters coincides with Spock's arrival to his own. And, also by mere happenstance, their quarters are divided by a single washroom of which is not soundproof.

Sliding into the chair at the desk, Spock diligently beings work on the required reports on his terminal; logging his own entries and signing documents to be sent back to Starfleet headquarters. The silence of his quarters allowing him to pick up on the muffled conversation from his resident next door.

"Other than Doctor McCoy and myself, have you informed anyone else of your condition?" his counterpart wonders.

"Spock knows.” Jim sighs. “But I wish I hadn't told him."

Spock's hands pause over the keys as something hot and unpleasant coils in his core.

"Why is that?" the elder prompts, and Spock’s heart commences hammering against his side as he awaits Jim's reply.

"I don't want to see him in pain. He's been through so much already with the destruction of _Vulcan_ , the death of his mother, and…"

"Your death," the elder provides helpfully.

Jim fails to conjure a verbal response.  

"I see. He is fortunate to have gained a friend, who cares greatly for his well-being."

Spock intakes a sharp breath at the knowledge of Jim disregarding his own health for the sake of his first officer.

For the sake of his friend.

Of course he’s come to learn that Jim possesses an altruistic quality; especially, after sacrificing his life to save the _Enterprise_ as it plummeted from the stars. But how long has it been since Spock thought about Jim saving his life while trapped inside the active volcano on _Nibiru_? The consequences of the rescue costing Jim his captaincy, yet the man harbored no regrets—only a wish for Spock to understand his reasoning.

"Spock,” Jim starts at length, and it sparks a sense of wrong to hear him call another by his name. “Were you, uh… _close_ to the Jim Kirk in your universe?”  

Spock’s head ticks in direction of Jim’s quarters. The barricade of wall seeming an annoyance where it once wasn’t.

"The specific answer you desire, I cannot give to you, Jim," the elder dodges quickly. “However, without revealing too much of my own timeline, I can admit that to some extent; yes, I was.”

"Yeah, that sounds familiar. If I recall, you were the one who told me I had to gain the _Enterprise_ from Spock, but only gave me vague directions on how to do it." He scoffs.

"Yet, you were successful. Were you not?"

Jim laughs bitterly. "Sure, after I got my ass handed to me."

"I am relieved that you were not severely injured; however, I do not desire to steer you in a certain direction, Jim,” his counterpart returns firmly, leaving no room for argument. “Your path is yours, and you must come to certain conclusions on your own."

Silence descends swiftly, leaving Spock to assume the conversation’s reached a conclusion until the faintest sound of Jim’s voice feathers into his ear.

"You loved your Jim Kirk, didn't you?"

With a jolt, Spock decides he does not desire to hear the elder's answer. Rising quickly from the chair, Spock hustles from his quarters out into the corridor. The cool air of the ship contrasting acutely with the increased warmth of the room. Shivering, he leans heavily against the door; placing a hand over his face while he battles to corral his reeling thoughts.

Why did Jim inquire about his counterpart's relationship with his own James Kirk?

 _What logical purpose is there to such a topic?_ he ponders.

The captain’s door swishes open after several minutes, and Spock suspiciously regards the elder as he departs the room. Unable to determine whether his counterpart is trustworthy; especially, when around Jim.

"You are troubled.”

Spock removes himself from the door to regain his poise. "I believe you are already aware of the reason,” he returns.

The elder gently inclines his head.

"I surmised you were listening,” he says simply.

"Are you implying Vulcans eavesdrop?” Spock returns heatedly.

“No.” The elder’s lips twitch in the barest hint of a smile. Clearly laboring under the assumption they are one and the same. "Nevertheless, you overheard, correct?"

At Spock’s lack of reply, the elder presses on, "Although I am uncertain of your current status with the young captain, would you be amenable to some advice?"

Spock inwardly debates on the credibility of what could be given and the impact it may have, all things considered. "I might be."

The elder releases a long-suffering sigh. "Remember what I have imparted to you upon our first encounter; there is a depth you must venture into on your own. Recall my words."

After trailing his counterpart’s movements with his eyes as he disappears down the corridor to the lift, Spock immediately heads for Jim’s quarters. The elder departing without the presence of the charismatic blond hovering at his backside had not gone unnoticed.

Keying in the override code when the chime remains unanswered, Spock hurriedly enters the dimly lit room.  Soft, even breaths greeting him as he pads into the bedroom to discover Jim splayed over the mattress. An arm hanging at an awkward angle and his body twisted with a leg propped up, the other extended. He appears anything but comfortable, though Spock is immensely relieved he’s managing to rest after nights of wrestling sleep.

Gingerly grasping the protruding arm, he places it onto the mattress, then moves down the bed to grip the sheets at the foot. Draping them gently over the slumbering form and halting only when Jim stirs; his pink tongue darting out to lick along his pale lips before retreating back inside.

There is no sign of pain upon his face, Spock notes. Jim is serene and as vulnerable as a child—which is rather odd considering the man’s personality. Yet, Spock can’t deny he finds Jim pleasing this way as he brushes a stray strand of hair from the man's face.

_I also do not wish to see you suffer._

Bending low, he caresses the heated skin of Jim’s forehead with the pads of his fingers; sensing contentment through the contact in spite of the illness. And with a small sigh, Spock risks the chance of rousing him as he speaks softly against the shell of the man's ear: "Sleep well, Jim."

 

 


End file.
